Remember Me
by ikilledlaurap
Summary: Mag hopes Pavi will remember her like she remembers him.


**Author's Note: **Why, hello there, everybody. I'm a new writer here, but I am far from unfamiliar with this website and with Repo! The Genetic Opera. I've been reading fanfiction for days, and I've found it all quite lovely. However, I've noticed the lack of Pavi/Mag fiction, which I have absolutely fallen in love with, so I set to work creating my own story for this pairing. I haven't written anything in almost a year, so I'm very proud of this fic, and I really hope that you all will enjoy it as well.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing, not even the title, which was inspired by the song Remember Me by The Birthday Massacre.

* * *

"Will you remember me?"

Her voice was low, a whisper pressed against his ear as they laid together in bed, warm and nude and smelling of love.

His blue eyes looked out at her from the mask that hid not only his scars, but also the person he truly was. It was in moments like this, when they were alone and wrapped up in their own little world, away from disgusting reality, that she got to look behind the false face and see his soul. In those moments, he was not Pavi Largo, the face-stealing, womanizing younger son of the so-called savior of the world. No, he was Paviche, the small child who had once called after her in a small, stuttering voice, begging for her not to leave him alone with his siblings.

"_Bella_," he said softly, as his hand fell upon her face and caressed her cheek. "The Pavi will never-a have to remember-a you. You will-a always be with-a the Pavi."

She smiled, her mind still thinking back on times when he was a boy, long before they were ever lovers. She would come over to see Marni, when Rotti and her were still dating, and Pavi would often interrupt their time together, begging Mag to tell him a story or teach him the piano. She used to get exasperated with him back then, and sometimes she would be rather mean to him. Yet, when Marni died, she found that he was the only person who could comfort her in the slightest.

_"Signora M-Mag, why... why are you c-crying? W-what are you t-thinking about?"_

_She looked up at the boy before her. It was Paviche, of course. The annoying one, as she had called him once, back when Marni was still alive. She had always wondered why he was so fascinated by her. His siblings had never shown the slightest interest in her or her performances. Paviche, though, he had attended every single concert she had given for years. He was always in the front row, leaning forward in his seat eagerly, and when her performance was over, he was always the first one to stand up and start applauding._

_"S... Signora?"_

_She realized that he was trying very hard not to stutter in front of her, and it made her smile. It was the first time she had smiled since Marni's death, and with the smile, more and more tears came, until she was reduced to sobs in front of the boy. Alarmed, the young Largo tried to calm her down. He rubbed her shoulders, patted her hair, but nothing seemed to work. He couldn't think of anything else, so, without even really thinking, he put his arms around her and squeezed tightly. She stopped sobbing almost instantly, and for a moment he was afraid that she was going to yell at him like she used to when he would bother her and her friend. She didn't yell or get mad at all, though. In fact, she didn't say a word. Instead, she folded her arms around the boy and hugged him back, before pulling away to look into his big, blue eyes._

_Pavi beamed at her. She smiled back and slid her hand against his cheek._

_"Thank you, Paviche."_

Slowly, as the memory passed, a single, black tear slid down her face and into the palm of his hand.

"Beautiful Mag, why-a are you-a crying? What are you-a thinking about, my-a dearest Magdalene?"

She looked at him, smiled a bit, and shook her head. "Nothing. I was just remembering times long since past."

He didn't question her, just held onto her perhaps a little tighter. He knew he would have to let go of her, eventually, and it pained him just to think about it. Tomorrow night would be her last performance, and he was determined to watch, as he had all of her other performances, from the front row. And at the end, he would stand and applaud, and he would, indeed, remember the only woman he ever loved, until they should meet again.


End file.
